


And though I'm not a great romancer, I know that I'm bound to answer

by Edwardina



Category: Glee
Genre: Infidelity, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-24 02:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/629165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edwardina/pseuds/Edwardina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's first real sexual experience is with the guy who's leaving town forever while his boyfriend is at Six Flags. Go figure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And though I'm not a great romancer, I know that I'm bound to answer

**Author's Note:**

> An anon prompted: _sam and kurt are having sex when blaine calls kurt's cell phone and sam makes him answer it while they continue._ Title from "Anything Goes," the same Broadway jam Glee mashed up.
> 
> Written pre-S3.

Kurt was trying so hard not to groan – first, because it was so embarrassing to hear himself making these kinds of helpless noises, and second, his voice might come out so high it would freak Sam right out of this and make him stop. He didn't know how it was happening, but it was – he was kissing Sam Evans, _with tongue_ – and even though he knew it made him a horrible boyfriend and horrible person in general, he was desperate to keep going.

Sam was a much better kisser than – well, Blaine. Or Brittany. Or... anyone else whose mouth had ever been on Kurt's. Repeated surges of arousal were gushing through him steadily, pinking up his face every time Sam did anything. He lowered Kurt to his back there on the basement floor, where they'd been casually sitting just minutes ago, listening to an actual vinyl record of all the best, most classic Hollywood stars covering standards that had Sam had randomly found at a thrift store for 99 cents and thought Kurt might like, which had been very sweet and out of the blue.

Kurt had been glad for the sudden company; Blaine hadn't returned any of his calls the past few days and it was starting to feel like he was never coming back from his stint at Six Flags, and he had dressed that day in a truly flamboyant nautical theme complete with sailor tam just for some fun. Sam hadn't appeared to care either way about his Ralph Lauren cabin boy get-up, and hadn't seemed to mind that the record player was in the basement, and hadn't seemed to care that the basement was still Dior gray and there was really nowhere to sit but a chair shaped like a bubble in the corner. He just sat on the floor, so Kurt sat by him.

Between songs, Sam had suddenly said, "I'm not coming back to McKinley next year. I'm moving. I haven't told anyone though," which was even more out of the blue.

And before Kurt knew it, their faces were unreasonably close, and then they were kissing like the world was about to end and this was the last possible chance they were ever going to have to touch.

All the times Kurt had felt anything, anything at all, for Sam – whether it was that funny belly-swoop he got when he saw how cute Sam was or the strange confused yet touched feeling he'd gotten when Sam had walloped Karofsky for him or the pity and overwhelming desire to help him when he'd discovered the shabby state of his living conditions – reared up in him all at once. He'd accepted the fact that Sam was straight like a slap in the face that had stung for weeks because he'd been so sure he wasn't; but now Sam was kissing him deep and there was no possible way he was totally straight if he was kissing Kurt like this. He'd been right all along, and somehow waiting for this all along...

Kurt had clutched at the shoulders of his t-shirt with both hands, squirming on the hard, cool floor. Sam took the squirm of utter erotic desperation as a bad thing and whispered, "Sorry... do you want me to stop?"

"No," Kurt whispered back quickly, nearly whimpering. "No, please don't –"

That was all Sam needed; apparently he hadn't wanted to stop either, and that knowledge burned through Kurt's face in a flush of sweet but painful arousal as Sam eased them into another heartbreakingly perfect kiss. His tongue edged along Kurt's and made him shudder, made him slip his alongside Sam's pleadingly. It wasn't too much or too little, it was just so completely good, just enough to give Kurt's body odd echoes of his blush all over the place. He'd carefully cupped at Sam's jaw, and Sam had seemed to like it and take it as the encouragement it was.

But unlike the lengthy but ultimately chaste make-out sessions Kurt had shared with both Brittany and Blaine, everything got hot, fast. It was like Sam could feel how much Kurt wanted it and responded in kind, gripping thrillingly at Kurt's waist so their bodies fit snug. Or maybe Sam was just really used to kissing girls like this. His hand slid curiously over Kurt's comparatively flat chest, fingers skimming under his vest on the left side, and it felt amazing yet embarrassing to know Sam could feel his heartbeat and feel just how much he wasn't a girl.

But Sam didn't stop, even though there was kinda nothing for him there. Sam kept kissing him anyway, like some dream, not put off by Kurt's flat yet tremoring chest... or the bulge of Kurt's dick in his neat white slacks as his hand deliberately brushed over it.

"Oh, God, Sam," Kurt had whispered, automatically humiliated and yet throbbing all over at the fact that Sam could feel it, Sam had touched it.

Sam looked at him hazily, asking, "Okay?"

Kurt had nodded, unable to get out the words _more.... more than okay_ , and Sam squeezed at him gently through his pants, making Kurt's eyes squeeze shut sensitively and his hips cock up at Sam's hand of their own accord.

"You get this far with Blaine?" Sam wanted to know.

"Kind of," Kurt answered, flustered. "We – make out, we –"

"Dry-hump?" provided Sam, as if sensing Kurt's general mixed shyness and inexperience.

"Yes, that."

"Do you like it?"

Kurt bit his lip. That was... more complicated an answer than it should've been, he knew.

"Does it make you boned like this? Doing stuff with him?" asked Sam helpfully, his nose tipped along Kurt's almost like a tease, mouth so close. His hand was slowly, steadily rubbing Kurt's dick through his pants, getting it harder and harder by the second.

"Oh, God, s-sometimes," Kurt squeaked. He didn't exactly want to spill all the private details about his and Blaine's sex life, or lack thereof, but he thought it was okay to continue on if Sam thought it was totally normal to respond like this, shakily whispering, "But he doesn't..."

Carefully, Sam was undoing Kurt's braided belt, the click of the metal buckle and everything loud between them.

 _He doesn't do that_ , Kurt finished wildly in his own head. Something about pamphlets was beating like someone's else's annoying bass beat would thump nearby in traffic, something about not throwing himself around, but – this didn't feel like throwing himself around. This felt like... _finally_. Finally, something was clicking, something was so right he couldn't deny it even though it seemed so wrong. He felt totally different than he usually did. He felt slightly intimidated, but more than that, he wanted Sam so bad his whole body wanted to curl and shake. Sam. Sam, who had been the quarterback and dated Quinn and went to freakin' church and was tall and had Charles Atlas muscles and such a hard, masculine body there against his, was unzipping his fly and fondling his dick through the suddenly thin-feeling cotton of his briefs.

"I wanna see your dick," Sam whispered, somehow managing to make it sound innocent and plaintive.

Nearly too clumsy with excitement to actually help, Kurt's fingers joined Sam to scrabble a the y-front of his briefs and shove the slit open, baring Kurt's blushing dick for Sam's eyes to see.

Sam wrapped his hand around it immediately, pumping it with long capable fingers, and embarrassed little wonderings about whether or not Sam liked what he saw or if he was, you know, lacking in some way fled Kurt's mind.

"Do you like it?" Kurt asked, but it wasn't so much self-conscious as sexual. Sam was staring down at Kurt in his hand. Poking from the white of his briefs and slacks Kurt knew his dick looked incredibly pink; it was just his curse, how easy it was to see it in his body when he was flushed or embarrassed or awkward or – hot, so hot he might pass out.

Sam nodded slowly, stroking Kurt with his thumb leading the way and slipping up around the neck to squeeze him there gently, and Kurt sighed, thighs clenching, forehead tipping into Sam's muscular bicep so he could hide his red, red face.

This was not happening. This was not in his still-forming Senior Year Plan; Juilliard was, another trip to New York to get better acquainted with his new city was, cinching Nationals in order to secure his future in musical theater was. _Blaine_ was. Not making out with the former quarterback in his basement and doing things he'd never done before with him all of a sudden. Blaine was supposed to be the one he did this with. But out of nowhere, this was happening to him; Sam was touching him, pumping him with a hand that as far Kurt knew had only ever touched girls.

"Kurt?" Sam whispered. "Is this good?"

"Yes," Kurt whispered back, a lump in his throat. It was beyond him to get quippy about how obvious it was that he liked it; he had a lingering suspicion Sam would stop if he got too noisy or wriggly or something.

In response, Sam's grip slid down the spine of his dick and pushed insistently at his briefs, urging them back behind Kurt's balls, and Kurt could have died. Like much of his body they were pink and maybe a little too smooth and delicate for others' comfort. Sam's entire hand was hot on them and covered them entirely when he gave them an experimental squeeze, watching Kurt's face.

"Oh my God," Kurt mouthed into Sam's arm.

Sam slowly acquainted himself with everything he'd pulled out to look at, the backs of his knuckles brushing, fingers curling, every now and then stroking up and making Kurt choke on moans that he tried his best to stop short before they ever made it out of his chest. He was going to come, he dimly knew it –

When his vest pocket vibrated, right there between his chest and Sam's.

Everything stopped.

Kurt's phone gave a couple more insistent buzzes.

"Aren't you going to get it?" Sam asked, in a weird what-are-you-waiting-for voice.

Kurt didn't even know what to say. It seemed extremely counter-intuitive to answer the phone right then. But his body seemed to think Sam was in charge, so he was fumbling for his phone before he could really think further about it, and in a completely obvious and cruel twist of irony and karma, the screen said BLAINE was calling.

"It's Blaine," he blurted.

"Pick up," Sam said. "Before you miss him."

With the complete wrongness of what was happening right then clanging through him like someone had rung some cosmic gong, Kurt obeyed, pressing the little green talk button and putting the phone to his shamefully warm ear.

"Blaine?"

"Kurt! Kurt, I'm so glad you picked up, I thought I'd miss you again," said Blaine. The connection was a little fuzzy down in Kurt's basement, and Kurt was having trouble actually making sense of what he was saying; Sam had bent his head and was kissing down his chest, following the buttons of his shirt and vest and touching each of them with his mouth in a really weird but really cute way.

"Yeah, you seem so busy!" Kurt said. "So if you can't talk now, I understand..."

"No way. I carved ten minutes out of my schedule to devote exclusively to you," said Blaine.

"Oh my God, really?" said Kurt, high-pitched out of dismay and the fact that Sam's hand had resumed playing with his hard-on and lightly fingering his balls. It had kind of begun to wane from the shock of the interruption and seeing Blaine's name, but perked right up again shamefully fast in Sam's hand.

"Of course. I've missed you. What have you been up to in my absence?"

Kurt couldn't think, even though he was trying hard to. Dizzily, he said, "Oh, you know, this and that..."

" _Pip Pip_?"

Sam was apparently riveted to watching Kurt's dick in his grip; he had slid down so Kurt could no longer hide his face and was staring and breathing down at the pumping of his fist in a harsh way that Kurt could feel up and down his whole body.

"... Yeah," said Kurt, feeling like he wasn't following the conversation at all.

Blaine had continued on, but the last thing Kurt caught was, "... with Rachel?"

"Yeah," he repeated. Again, the uncomfortable overwhelming feeling like he was going to come at any second was creeping up on him and he didn't know what to do. He didn't want Sam to stop, but he didn't want to hang up on Blaine either. Sam glanced up at him and found Kurt looking down at him, hypnotized even with the phone to his ear.

"Missing me?" Blaine asked in his knowingly teasing flirty way.

"Yes!" Kurt said, overcompensating.

Sam just lifted his eyebrows and looked like he was internally debating something, and desperately, Kurt mouthed at him, _Please, please don't leave_. Sam smiled up at him crookedly and shook his head, and mouthed back with that dumb smile on, _Keep going._

"...doing? The reception's not too great and it sounds like you're out of breath. Are you shopping?"

"No," breathed Kurt. It would've been funny, maybe, for Blaine to be so utterly wrong, but Sam was jacking him off deliberately now, and it was still blowing Kurt's mind that another boy's hand was on his dick at all. "Working out," he said, privately amazed his brain could come up with such a lie. "I'm in my basement working out, that's why the reception sucks."

"Wow, you work out?"

"I do pilates and dance, Blaine, you know that," said Kurt through a gritty throat. He grabbed at his own hair, half annoyed and half just desperately afraid he was going to come all over himself, or Sam's hand, or Sam's _face_ if he kept scooting down Kurt's body, and he'd have no idea how to cover that up on the phone. Normally he would've loved it if Blaine called and asked him what he was up to and if he was missing him and stuff, because usually Blaine launched into his Greatest Hits and Biggest Regrets about his latest performance now that his life revolved entirely around his show at Six Flags, but Kurt couldn't think of anything else to do but gasp, "Enough about me already, who cares? Tell me everything you've been up to."

Carefully he covered up the mouth of his phone with his fingers and whispered accusingly at Sam, all sense of modesty stretched too thin to be of any use, "You're gonna make me come!"

Sam's brows perked again.

It was supposed to be a warning, but instead of backing off totally or at least gentling his touch until it wouldn't do more than keep Kurt hard and at his mercy, Sam smiled at Kurt for a weird, intense moment while Blaine blathered on in his ear about God knows what. Then, without seeming to think anything of it, he bent and all that bleach-damaged blond hair fanned out awkwardly over Kurt's stomach as he sealed his lips in a warm, cushy suck around the tip of Kurt's dick.

Kurt gasped openly, right into Blaine's out-of-state ear.

"I know, right?" Blaine said enthusiastically.

"Right?" Kurt echoed. He had not even the vaguest idea what Blaine was saying. His attentions were totally captured; Sam's mouth was hot and wet and taking him easily right down to the ring of his fingers, and it was overwhelming to his senses. He had no idea how to process it except for the skittering thought, _Sam's blowing me. In my basement._

Blaine's voice, distant and vague and Charlie Brown Teacher at best, was carrying on, but Kurt's mind couldn't grip onto it except for random words: _jazz squares, fantastic, rehearsals_. Sam was jacking him so smooth and gentle, bobbing his head just slightly, and the rhythm it hit together was like Sam was pushing Kurt's dick into his mouth longingly with each stroke, pulling him closer and closer. Kurt's eyelids fluttered helplessly. His abdominal muscles were flexing like crazy, his stomach sinking low, and he knew he was on the absolute edge of coming – but he just couldn't believe it was Sam Evans' mouth getting him there. He and Blaine had only just rubbed up against each other awkwardly a few times and even though Kurt wasn't an idiot and knew oral sex was a thing that people did and totally on their future menu (especially since he really, really wanted to see what it was like to suck a guy's cock), he just couldn't – he couldn't –

He grabbed at Sam's hair inarticulately.

"... Kurt?" asked Blaine. "You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah, hold on, pulled my hamstring," babbled Kurt, and tucked his phone against his neck as he squirmed under Sam's hand – and mouth – and came. He could feel himself shooting off in Sam's mouth, then that heat slid up over the sensitive head of his dick and he almost whimpered, nutting further in a messy blurt of thick white jizz that shot along Sam's lips and cheek, clinging to them. He gasped again, louder, somewhere between horrified and extremely turned on just seeing something like that – his dick wet with spit in Sam's hand, those big plush lips, his come all over Sam's flushed face. Sam blinked dizzily and sighed.

Kurt was sure he totally fuzzed out for a minute, but once he realized he had, he snapped the phone back against his ear and said, "Oh, God, sorry. Sorry! I just –"

"Hey, you okay?" Blaine asked him sympathetically.

"High kick," said Kurt, staring down in pathetic wonder at Sam, who glanced up at him briefly then dropped his lids again, mouth sliding slick with Kurt's come all along the throbbing head of his cock. He wasn't planning on stopping for anything, Kurt realized, with a brutal punch of heat to the face.

"Better get an ice pack," Blaine advised.

"Very... solid, solid idea," panted Kurt.

"Well, I have to go, anyway – but listen, I'll text you later and I'll call you tomorrow if I can, okay?"

"'Kay."

"'Kay, Kurt. I miss you," said Blaine.

"You too," Kurt said lightly, and they hung up without saying goodbye, as was their custom.

He dropped his phone on the floor, and Sam sat up slowly. His face was smeared with Kurt's come, and as confusingly good as that looked, Kurt knee-jerkedly arched up onto an elbow and grasped at Sam's forearm.

"I'm so sorry," he said in a rush. "I tried to tell you –"

But Sam just said, "It's fine," and looked so unruffled that Kurt actually believed him. He watched Sam press his lips together, feeling yet another weak flush of impossible arousal when he realized those lips had come clinging in the corners of them – had been on his dick, sliding all around it.

"I'm sorry," Sam added, slumping. "I thought if I stopped, you wouldn't..."

"What?"

"I thought that if I stopped, you would come to your senses, you know? You wouldn't let me keep going. 'Cause of Blaine, 'cause... I shouldn't be.... shouldn't have been doing that. But you didn't tell me to stop. So I just –" Sam made a helpless motion with his hands that looked like a mix between _hurry up_ and _the wheels on the bus go 'round and 'round_.

Kurt stared at Sam's beautiful, strange, oddly-proportioned and confused-looking face. After a minute, he took pity and reached around his throat to untie the jaunty little red bandana he'd accessorized his striped shirt with. It was actually one of Carole's cloth dinner napkins, but it made a fantastic bandana if one was in search of such a thing. He got it from around his neck and went after Sam's round cheek with it, making him laugh breathlessly.

Softly, not knowing exactly what Sam had done all that for except for the dismal fact that he was leaving and it was, actually, his last chance to find his inner gay with a guy he knew wouldn't reject him, Kurt said, "I promise not to be sorry if you promise not to be sorry."

"I'm not," said Sam, ducking his face into Kurt's hand. Muffled, he added, "About this."

"Have you ever done anything...?" started Kurt cautiously.

Sam took the bandana-napkin from him and pressed it into his face with both hands, shaking his head.

"Oh," said Kurt. He didn't quite know what to say. "Well... it was really... unexpected."

Sam took a deep breath and exhaled it into the cloth, ruffling it slightly.

"Yeah, it wasn't exactly anything I've thought about doing before. I just... can I just be honest?"

"Of course. I hear it's the best policy, unless you're on the phone with your boyfriend."

Finally, Sam lowered the napkin, having gotten most but the barest shiny traces of Kurt's load from his cheeks.

"I liked it," he said heavily. "A lot."

Kurt's heart leapt into his throat. His face felt like it was buzzing. "Really?"

Sam just nodded once, and Kurt thought he wasn't going to say anything further, as if he could possibly embarrass himself when Kurt was the one doing an _I Love Lucy_ routine with Blaine on the phone. But he seemed to give himself a push and said, "And I liked when you let me lean you back and you – touched my face – and just let me – and said my name... and you said you didn't do this with Blaine. Were you just saying that?"

"If I didn't know better," Kurt said, shaking his head slowly in bewilderment, "I'd say you were jealous of Blaine..."

Sam declined to actually answer, but he looked at Kurt ruefully.

"It doesn't matter anyway," he said after a minute. "I'm leaving, so."

"Right," Kurt said, feeling a genuine pang of sadness – not just for Sam and because he and glee would miss his mellow baritone and badly-dyed hair and randomness, but because he'd just shared something with someone who was going to leave him soon. It made him think. "But... before you go, maybe you'll let me return the favor. If you want."

"If _I_ want?" asked Sam, looking disarmed.

"You know. Before either of us come to our senses," said Kurt. He leaned in and whispered as a reminder to Sam, "I've never done it before."

Sam clutched him into a kiss.

And, despite his New York plan and all thoughts of how his first real sexual experiences would be by candlelight or something, listening to Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra in his basement while he made out with a straight jock (who had come to him first, before any of his ex-girlfriends or buddies) seemed to make a whole lot of sense. Out of the blue, his ass.


End file.
